


Glitter, Flowers and Long Red Hair

by nevermindgrantaire



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Birthday Party, Jehan and Ferre and Mont and Taire are childhood friends, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, Les Amis de l'ABC Shenanigans, Multi, Reunions, Suprise!!, everybody loves combeferre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2421020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevermindgrantaire/pseuds/nevermindgrantaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac meets Jehan, Combeferre's old friend from back when they were young, when Enjolras sends him to drive him to a suprise party they are throwing for Combeferre's birthday. A crush is the last thing he needs, so obviously that's what happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glitter, Flowers and Long Red Hair

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost and rewrite of an older fic I did a while back- I've fixed all of the irritating problems and stuff now!

 

On the very corner of a tiny side street in the middle of Paris, the Fleur de Soleil Café glowed like a little beacon of yellow light and pulled in students like moths to a flame. It was a baby café, only a few months old, with a glass-topped counter and a spiral stair case to the second floor. It only held space for about 8 tables, both upstairs and downstairs, and on the second floor the walls were utterly surrounded with bookshelves.

There was another staircase on the second floor but it had an “employees only, sorry!” sign across it and there were so many books resting on the steps that it would have been difficult to get up there anyway. Entwined through the bannisters were fairy lights, flowers and leaves that glowed softly on the faces of the customers and enticed slow smiles out of even the most stressed students.

 

Almost always sat behind the counter, a book in their hand and one eye on the customers, was the café’s apparent only employee. He was tall and slender, almost gangly; too tall and clumsy to be graceful, for sure, but somehow he managed it.  Like an overgrown baby giraffe, with big, soft, dark eyes.

He had red hair shot through with streaks of sun bleached blonde that he wore woven into complicated plaits and messy buns wreathed with fresh flowers from the window boxes outside. His green-grey eyes crinkled warmly when he smiled and sunflower-seed coloured eyelashes brushed over his darkly tanned cheeks.

 

Freckles scattered manically over almost every part of his skin, dancing across his neck and his collarbones like dots of paint. He was unreal somehow, a faerie prince come to walk amongst the mortals, but every so often he would trip over someone’s bag as he weaved through the café collecting dirty plates or snort a little too loudly at something he was reading and turn tomato red, looking round the café to see if anyone was looking at him.

 

Some days, the customers would stroll up to the café and see a sign in the door, not the usual “come on in, we’re open!” sign surrounded by stick-on flowers, but a sad little sign scrawled on the back of a napkin dismally announcing “sorry, but we’re closed.” On the days when that happened, loud sad French music could be heard pouring out of the open windows on the third floor of the building where the boy apparently lived.

 

Some nights, long after the café was closed and the cleaning up was done, if you happened to walk past on your way home you could hear a quiet voice murmuring poetry to the herb plants in the window boxes.

 

“'T’was noontide of summer, and mid-time of night; and stars, in their orbits, shone pale, thro' the light, of the bright cold moon-”

 

Other nights, you could even see him, perched on the window sill with one ear bud in and his mind on another planet, talking softly to the little grey kitten that loitered around the place and seemed to be his permanent companion or flipping through vintage books of poetry or photography.

 

“-don’t chew the flowers, William. Now, listen to this. ‘We may all be lying in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” Don’t you think that’s a lovely phrase? A lovely quote, anyway. Overused, maybe?”

 

William the kitten, a tubby thing with a pink nose, huge blue eyes and a permanently bewildered expression, hung around in the café a lot, pleading for food with her big grey eyes and gently cajoling customers into giving in to her every indicated whim. Sometimes she would sit on the boy’s shoulder as he read, and sometimes it would flop down somewhere behind the counter and mewl every now and then to let you know she was still there.

 

The boy, the cat, and the café itself, were splashes of colour in a washed out city.

 

Courfeyrac was hopelessly not in love with him.

 

*****

 

 

Courfeyrac was a simple man. He liked people, obviously, and he liked sugary food. He liked musical theatre and cats and comedy shows on TV, and then he liked ice cream and big jumpers and bowties and suspenders. Equality and sparkles and bright colours and never letting people be scared to exist in the way that they wanted to. When he dated, he liked loud people like himself, flamboyant, bright, glittery people. He didn’t date shy, stutter people- just look how that worked out with Marius (he’d mooned about being poetically in love for ages, doing anything that Marius asked him, even letting him stay with him on his couch. Then Marius had casually dropped a mention of his extreme heterosexuality and Courf had been sad and got very drunk about it a few times with Grantaire lamenting his loss, and that was really it.). He definitely did not like dreamy red-headed poets with freckles like constellations and soft voices that made him smile almost automatically. Not when aforementioned poets clearly would have ot be absolutely out of their minds to like him back.

 

He didn’t.

 

He didn’t, honestly, stop sniggering Ferre because you sound like a six year old, I've not known him long enough and I swear I'm not in love we only went on one date so far.

 

*****

 

It had started on a Sunday afternoon.

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

Someone had turned on Combeferre’s portable radio on the book shelf, and crap pop was blaring from it already. They had hung streamers all over the front door and pinned balloons on the fireplace. Feuilly had bought a huge bowl of crisps with him, and Eponine was currently sprawled on the couch stealing all of them. “Ok,” Enjolras started from the front of the room. “We’re going to do this properly and we’re going to do this well. We have 3 hours before Combeferre gets back and we need to have everything planned by then. Joly and Bossuet, you’re in charge of sorting out the nibbles and food stuff,”

 

“Is that a good idea?” Musichetta asked him behind her hand.

 

“They’re only heating stuff up in a microwave, don’t worry. Nothing can go wrong there…”

 

“Want to bet?”

 

“Fine. A tenner? You should trust them more, they are your boyfriends!” She elbowed him in the side and took his hand to seal the deal. Enjolras grinned and raised his voice. “Bahorel, Feuilly and Musi, you’ll be decorating this room. Balloons, glitter, whatever. Make it… pretty. Grantaire, you and Eponine can go down the store and buy some alcohol of some description as, as everyone knows, everyone in this house is frankly a monk.” He paused. “Including me, actually. Maybe pick up some juice as well. And stop eating the crisps, both of you! They’re for the party!”

 

Grantaire paused like a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar and snatched it back, while Eponine tried to hide her bulging cheeks. “Uhh. I was hungry.” R muttered, picking up his jacket.

 

Courfeyrac gave his friend a sympathetic smile as he walked out of the door and sort of expanded on his side of the sofa like a cookie with too much baking powder, revelling in the actual comfort that his two friends could afford. He wasn’t exactly poor, not by anyone’s standards. He was just a regular student, having to buy the cheapest he could get away with and beg to borrow money off his parents to make it to the end of the month. On the other hand, both Enj and Ferre were from better-off families than most of them, and god! Their couch was brand new, bright red and so comfortable it was unreal.

 

“Courfeyrac!”

 

Courf jumped and looked up at Enjolras innocently, like he wasn’t planning on stealing his sofa in the dead of night or anything. “Sorry, I was on a different planet.”

 

“It’s ok, I just wanted to talk to you about something.” He cleared his throat. “Because it’s a big birthday, his 21st, I’ve been tracking down all of Combeferre’s friends from Uni and his old college and all to come to the party tonight. And because R used to live near him and be friends with him when they were younger I asked him about any childhood friends who I could contact.”

 

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Courf’s face lit up.

 

“So anyway. Do you remember him talking about a Jean, at all?”

 

“Umm… Yeah, Jean Pra-something. Didn’t Ferre say his parents took him out of school to go travelling?”

 

Enjolras shrugged. “I don’t know. But anyway, he’s back in Paris. He’s got a cake shop on the Rue d’Canard, and he’s making a birthday cake for the party. It’s a surprise reunion thing so don’t, you know, tell Ferre or anything. But we need you to go down and pick up the cake then drive Jean whatever-his-name-is up here with you for the party… Is that ok?”

 

“Sure!” Courf smiled. This party had been in the works for months, with Enjolras showing enough presence of mind to remember that it was actually going to be one of his best friend’s 21st birthday and that parties are generally a quite nice surprise. Anything he could do to help was fine by him.

 

He watched, smiling as Bahorel warbled along to an ABBA song and hung up the fairy lights around Enjolras’ flat and Chetta ordered him around from the comfy armchair, a smug expression on her face. His size 14 feet dodged around the crap that Combeferre left all over the floor (huge stacks of books and papers and nature magazines) as he effortlessly reached the window. From the other side of the room, Courfeyrac glowered. He was never going to be that tall, no matter how many pairs of platform boots he wore.

 

In the kitchen the sounds of desperate squawking could be heard and a moment later Joly was spat out, hacking up a lung and searching desperately for his inhaler. Smoke puffed out around him. “Joly?” Musichetta asked from the other side of the room, concerned. “What happened?”

 

“Microwave-” Cough! “-exploded!” Cough. He puffed in a breath from his inhaler once, twice, and then his shoulders relaxed a little within their terrible Christmas jumper. He wiped his nose on one of the too-long sleeves and looked up through his scruffy fringe at everybody else, eyeing the smoke that was still curling out of the door suspiciously. “He forgot to take the packaging off.”

 

Enjolras looked up from the sofa, where he was wrapping a stack of presents. “Damn.”

 

Beside him, Musichetta coughed genteelly and held out her hand and he groaned and rummaged in his pocket for his wallet.

 

As he waltzed out the door, happy to leave the others to deal with the chaos, Courfeyrac laughed and called to the embarrassed-looking culprit. “How long were you in there? 2 minutes? Surely that beats your record, Bossuet!”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Walking up to the yellow-painted door, Courfeyrac recognised the café, the twinkly lights and all. He had walked past it a couple of times in the winter and had longed to go in but had always had a class that was much more pressing. He shrugged and pushed open the door, breathing in the smell of strong coffee and muscavado sugar.

 

The room was empty, except for a student typing manically away on a laptop, biting her lip and drinking coffee like it was air. Irma Boissey, he recognised. A pretty girl in his year; Grantaire always flirted with her when he saw her and she treated him like a small child- cute but never ever ever getting anywhere with her.

 

A small grey kitten bumped its head against Courf’s foot and he jumped, then grinned. “Oh, hello poppet. Who’s a pretty girl, then?”

 

It butted its head against his leg and meowed in response, and he crouched down to talk to it. The chubby bundle of fluff nuzzled his hand and butted into his leg again.

 

“Oh, hello!” A voice came from above and he looked up to see a smiling face looming over him. It was a boy, leaning over the counter. He had a long, dark red plait that swung over his shoulder and freckles everywhere. In the dim, pretty lighting of the café, he seemed to have a halo. “Are you the friend of Ferre’s?” He asked, babbling a little. “Enjolras said that he’d get one of you to come down and get me and the cake. You seem very nice, I can tell. You have a very pretty aura. It’s all pink and purple with bits of silver in it and it moves a lot. I’m Jehan. Like the medieval name? I’m really called Jean but I like Jehan better, it sounds more Romantic, doesn’t it? Romantic with a capital letter like the poets, not like the… mood or whatever. Do you like poetry? I do. So does William, she’s my kitten. I named her after the poet, you know, Wordsworth.”

 

Courfeyrac blinked, and stood up. The kitten clung hopelessly to his kneecap. “Um. Hi.”

 

Biting his lip, the guy frowned. “Sorry, I tend to talk too much when I meet new people… I really do hope you are the person Enjolras sent or else this will be awkward. I like your jumper. Would you like some tea or cake or something? And oh gosh, sorry, I forgot to ask your name! What’s your name?”

 

“I’m Courfeyrac. Uh, Courf to friends.” He smiled shyly (why was he being shy? He wasn’t normally shy at all).

 

Jehan’s face lit up and he nodded happily. “Very nice to meet you. Ok, would you like a drink or something? I can make you a coffee if you’d like.”

 

“Yes, please. That would be nice,” Courf said, and then, “I mean, if it isn’t any trouble.”

 

“Not at all!”

 

He watched as the peculiar boy swayed off in the direction of the coffee maker. He was very tall, at least a full foot taller than Courf, and very thin. Wrapped around his head was a thin head-band made of little gold glass beads, and it carried on down through his long red plait. He was wearing a baggy blue shirt with darker blue and white paisley print all over it, and a pair of orange and pink flowered skinny jeans. Hundreds of bracelets jangled across his arms, full of tiny shells and bangles and woven colourful bracelets.

 

His staring was cut off as a steaming cup was planted in front of him. “Here you go!” Jehan sang in a musical voice.

 

“Thank you,” Courfeyrac smiled, and stirred a couple of sugars into it.

 

Jehan leaned on the counter and watched him drink, William the cat hopping up on to the counter and draping over his neck like a fluffy scarf. “I made Ferre a birthday cake, did Enjolras tell you? I love baking, especially when it's for someone I care about. The cake’s out the back, I’ll just go get it. This is really exciting, isn’t it? I’m so looking forward to meeting all of Ferre’s friends, and of course seeing him again! It’s been so long, far too long. And R too.” He carried on talking as he disappeared into the little back room. “We were such a strange group at school. We lived down the same street as kids, you know, but Ferre and R came from the council houses at the rougher end of the street and I lived with my parents up at the richer end.” He laughed, a silvery laugh that made Courf feel warm and happy inside. “I used to climb over the wall at the end of my garden to go out and play with them. All the local kids thought I was a total pansy, of course, what with the…” Emerging from the back room with a cake box balanced in a one-armed hug, he made a wobbly gesture with his hand. “You know. The clothes and all.”

 

“What, you’ve always dressed like that?”

 

“Yeah. Well. My parents were a bit weird. Mum was an artist, she’s the one who taught R to paint actually. Dad was a journalist, so he travelled a lot, and he used to bring me back all sorts of things from all over the world. Huge baggy print trousers, Russian puffy hats, bone necklaces…” The poet had put the cake down on the counter and he had his eyes closed with a nostalgic smile spread across his face. “He bought me back halva from somewhere once- that was heavenly. I shared it with Combeferre and Taire and Ferre absolutely hated it. Oh, it was the funniest thing! His face went all wrinkly and he was trying to be polite and going ‘oh, it’s not too bad’ and slowly turning purple because he wanted to spit it out!”

 

Grinning, Courf raised an eyebrow. “He… yeah, he still does that.”

 

“I can see that we have many stories to share, my friend,” Jean Prouvaire told him, collecting the cup and dumping it on the side. “I’ll leave that for later.” Looking across the room to Irma, still sat on the side lines and glumly glancing at her empty coffee cup. “Sorry, honey, I’m closing up early today. I’ve got a surprise party to get to.”

 

***

 

They pulled up outside the flat a few minutes before the deadline Enjolras had given them and hurried up into the flat, covertly glancing around to make sure that their friend did not appear. Even though the Amis knew his routine back to front and he rarely diverted from it, Courfeyrac couldn’t help but worry that this would be the one day that he decided to come home early or something. Every little cough, every footstep, every sound at the door made him jump.

 

Eponine and Feuilly had made a banner to stretch across the door with “Happy birthday, nerd! (love you xx)” written on it. It was surrounded by little stuck-on gems, and Jehan had to duck under it as he came into the flat.

 

“Nice place,” he started to say but was cut suddenly short by a tiny bullet in a green hoodie seizing him in a slightly-too-violent hug.

 

“Flower boy! God I am glad to see you, it’s been far too long.” Grantaire grinned up at him, his chipped tooth that he had got falling out of a tree in year 7 still in evidence. He had barely changed, Jehan thought. He was taller, and his hair was messier if that was even possible, but he still had the pathetic fluffy beard sprouting out of his chin and his eyes were still constantly changing- one moment sparkling with wit and creativity and the next darkening over with sarcasm. Jehan took a breath, and yup, he still smelt the same too. Earthy, a little sweaty, coffee, paint, cheap cologne and warmth.

 

“Oh my god I missed you so much.” He wheezed. “But even so, put me down, R!”

 

“You’ve got so tall, what did they do to you in India?”

 

“Fed me far too much, I reckon.” Prouvaire joked, and R shook his head like a concerned mother hen.

 

“Not enough, just look at the size of your wrists!” He looped a finger and thumb around it easily, and R realised for the first time just how tiny the poet actually was. Almost birdlike. “We’ll definitely be feeding you up while you’re with us. Are you back in the country permanently?”

 

Other guests were starting to arrive now, friends of Ferre’s from collage or the library or the hospital, but most of the Amis were hovering around Jehan, R and Courfeyrac, hoping to be introduced to the interesting new stranger. Jehan glanced around at them a little shyly. “Uh, hopefully, yeah. Hello?”

 

“Hi, Jehan!” Enjolras shot him a smile as he fast-walked across the room, carrying 5 bowls of nibbles in the crook of his arms, and disappeared into the small cloud of people that weren’t the Amis.

 

“Oh yeah, guys!” Grantaire remembered. “This is Jean Prouvaire. He’s an old friend of me and Ferre from school.”

 

Jehan bobbed awkwardly in acknowledgement of the “hello’s” he received, and glanced back to where Courfeyrac was keeping look out by the front door. “Nice to meet you all!”

 

There was a pause in conversation, filled in by the muttering and murmuring of party-goers, as everyone split to finish off their own specific tasks and Jehan remembered the cake he was carrying. Humming to himself, he set the box down on the table of food and extracted the cake from it very delicately.

 

It was a master-piece in sugar- even R would have been proud to create something like it. It had two tiers, both coated in thick dark blue icing and dotted with tiny little sugar stars. White, yellow and pink food glitter shimmered in constellations all around it and he had even crafted tiny little planets to stick on. Written in tiny iced words weaving their way through the constellations were messages from each one of Combeferre’s friends, transcribed by Enjolras and passed on to Jehan by phone. Over all, it was impressive and Jehan was proud.

 

“Lights out, guys, he’s coming!” Courfeyrac’s voice broke through the chatter suddenly and everyone scrambled to get out of the way. Some hid under the tables, behind the sofa, in the kitchen. Jehan ducked behind a kitchen chair and hoped he could camouflage. Enjolras flicked out the lights and then glanced around the room, panicked. All of the good hiding spots were gone, and…

 

The key turned in the lock.

 

In the room, the tension was almost edible.

 

With a creak, the door opened. The lights flicked on.

 

Everyone collectively held their breath.

 

“Enjolras? What are you doing hiding behind my lamp?”

 

As one, everyone chose that moment to reveal themselves. “SURPRISE!”

 

Combeferre’s eyes widened and he stepped back, his bag of shopping slipping from his hand and his mouth splitting open into a wide grin. “Well, fuck me.”

 

A cheer echoed around the room.

 

“Not literally.”

 

From somewhere in the back, R shouted out “Awh!” and Ferre laughed.

 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you all did this for me. You are the best friends a guy could ask for.”

 

Enjolras blushed. “Oh, it was nothing.”

 

“This…” Ferre gestured around at the room, all decorated with lights and streamers, and the people, all dressed up and grinning like Cheshire cats. “This is not nothing.”

 

Stepping out of his hiding place behind the TV, Courf pulled him into a hug and as Enjolras tried to dodge round them and escape, he snagged his belt and pulled him in too. “Happy birthday, man.”

 

By the radio, Bahorel gave a whoop and hit play, turning up the music. His hair, piled on his head in a messy bun, wobbled up and down as he hopped in time to the beat. Beside him, Feuilly hummed and downed a celebratory drink. Eponine tugged on Marius’ arm. “Want to dance?”

 

“Huh?” His attention snapped back to her, although he seemed to be staring somewhere else, at a blonde girl across the room. “Um. Yeah, sure.” He tripped over his own feet and tried to grab onto Joly’s cane to steady himself, but planted his hand firmly on Bousset’s bald head instead. Bousset let out a squeak in surprise, and then raised an eyebrow in confusion. Marius’ eyes never left the girl and Ep huffed irritatedly, catching his eye line.

 

“Never mind,” She snapped and whirled off in a swirl of angry hippy scarves and bangles.

 

“Now,” Courf said to Ferre, clapping a brotherly hand on his shoulder and pushing a glass of something alcoholic into his hand. “We have a little bit of a surprise for you, my friend.”

 

“What?” Ferre’s previously calm face suddenly showed distinct signs of worry. He sounded a bit like he was being strangled. “No, Courf, no. Enjolras! You promised you’d never let him hire me a stripper. Oh god, Courf, why?”

 

Courf looked a little startled and Enjolras chuckled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, it’s not a stripper. You’ll like it, I promise. I suggested it, as a matter of fact.”

 

Raising a hand to his forehead, Ferre did not look reassured. “It isn’t a politician, is it?”

 

“Jehan! Get your flowery butt over here!” Courf shouted, unable to stay silent for more than five seconds at a time. Enjolras glared at him, and he just smiled smugly.

 

“Oh!” Ferre exclaimed, his eyes going wide. “You didn’t!”

 

“We did,” Courf smirked.

 

“Hello,” said Jehan, pushing his way politely through the crowd of people hovering around the birthday boy. He was twirling his plait between his fingers, biting his lip. Courfeyrac noticed the stripe of glitter grazing his cheekbones.

 

Combeferre grinned even wider, if that was physically possible. “Jehan! You’re here! I thought you were in India!”

 

“No, I’m back this time, and hopefully I’ll be sticking around for a while.” He smiled awkwardly. “I mean, if that’s alright with all of you, I don’t want to-”

 

Courf clapped a hand on his shoulder too. “It’ll be nice having you around.”

 

“Nice? It’ll be amazing!” Ferre grinned, throwing an arm around him and taking a long drink from his glass. “I really missed you, you know.”

 

“I missed you too,” Jehan smiled, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “So, so much. It was wonderful over there, you would have loved it, but it sure was lonely. But I have news about that. I bought a café.”

 

“You what?”

 

“I bought a café. In town, near here. Sunflower café, on Duck Street. So I’ll be living around here for at least a while.”

 

“That’s brilliant!” Ferre said, half choking on his mouthful of what-ever-it-was.

 

“I am very glad you think so!”

 

Enjolras chimed in. “You should come to one of our meetings, it would be brilliant to have you there, you know!”

 

"Oh, stop trying to recruit people, you..." Grantaire chimed in, and Courf zoned out.

 

Still with his arm over Combeferre’s shoulder, he eyed Jehan and bit his lip. The problem was, he was very… pretty. That was the only way to describe him. Pretty and utterly distracting him from the very important duty of being loud and obnoxious to his best friend on his birthday (a sort of tradition, he liked to claim). He didn’t like him in that way, though. He couldn’t.

 

As he watched, Jehan said something funny and Enjolras laughed and gave him a compliment. Dipping his head in embarrassment, Jehan bit his lip to stop a grin and closed his eyes slightly. Trying not to feel creepy, Courfeyrac watched the sweep of sunflower-seed coloured eyelashes over his cheeks and the way his cheeks were painted in the faintest blush when he was embarrassed or happy. He liked that. He wanted to be the one making him smile like that, he wanted-

 

And ok, that was enough of that for one night.

 

“Um, I’m going to go and get another drink.” He muttered and ducked out of the conversation awkwardly. He decidedly didn't look back.

The table with all the drinks on it was crowded with people that he didn't know and didn't really want to know, all of them Combeferre's friends from all of the classes he did. He quickly found the fruit-flavoured vodka and downed a shot, squeezing his eyes shut as it burned down his throat.

 

With Jehan staying, he could get to know him better. That would be nice.

 

But Jehan was Ferre’s friend, his old friend and he couldn’t do that. It wasn’t fair, dating within the friendship group, it left people out and caused awkwardness.

 

It wouldn’t be too difficult, he told himself. He could do it.

 

*****

 

The music was loud, and Courfeyrac grinned as he realised he knew the song, bouncing up and down a little bit in time to the beat. Looking around for someone to dance with, he spotted Montparnasse leaning nonchalantly against the wall and twitching roughly in time to the music. He grinned to himself- though he’d never admit it to his face, he actually liked Mont. He was one of Ferre and Grantaire’s friends from when they were younger as well, a boy from the slightly rougher side of town and not always living 100% on the right side of the law.

 

Jiggling with hyperactivity, he downed another shot and slid over to him. “Hey, Mont!”

 

Montparnasse raised an eyebrow. “Courfeyrac,” he nodded. He looked surprisingly smart, with his long thin legs clad in skinny jeans and his velvet-y suit jacket and white shirt, and when he caught Courfeyrac looking he smoothed his hands over the jacket self-consciously. “What?” He said, defensive. “It’s my friend’s birthday, I thought I’d make an effort.”

 

“Nothing, nothing! You look…” Courfeyrac grinned slowly and flicked his eyes up and down. “Very nice.”

 

Montparnasse laughed at him. “Don’t try and flirt with me, Courf. I saw you checking out pretty boy earlier-”

 

“What, no, what. No you didn’t- who do you even mean, what.”

 

“- And I’m pretty much immune to your… charms, now.” He gestured vaugely with his fancy artisan beer. “Don’t worry, I won’t let on. You know, we actually dated once.”

 

Courf frowned. “I’m aware of that?”

 

“No, I mean. Me and pretty boy. Jehan.”

 

“Christ, have you made it your mission in life to screw everyone I know?”

 

“Practically. Everyone except Goldie. And that’s only cos Grantaire practically pissed in a circle round him to mark his territory. Oh, and Ferre because he’s ace. And also that would be like sleeping with a brother.”

 

“Wait, but you dated Jehan?”

 

“A very hot brother but still… Anyway. Yeah? You want tips? He likes… Sunflowers and marzipan chocolates. Poetry. Flower crowns. He’s quiet but he word-vomits around people he’s attracted to.” He paused in thought. “Good in bed.”

 

“Don’t want to know!”

 

“Really good in bed.” Montparnasse smirked, a really dirty smirk and Courfeyrac spluttered.

 

“I don’t want to talk about this, especially not with you.”

 

“Why not? Miss me yet?” He pouted and wiggled his eyebrows, making kissy noises.

 

Courfeyrac laughed and pushed him away. They’d dated for about 3 weeks before deciding it probably wasn’t the smartest idea. They were too similar in some ways, and drastically different in others, and while he could appreciate Mont as a friend he could never be with him for real. Mont didn’t particularly care, moving on in a matter of minutes, literally. Courf liked to have fun, but Mont pushed the balance a little too far. Even now, he could see in the dilation of his pupils that Parnasse had probably had enough of that stupid hipster beer.

 

Whatever. It was a party. He should have snagged himself a bottle of it before it all went.

 

A yell behind him made him look round- he almost had his nose taken off by a gangly speeding bullet in terrible clashing clothes and with a long red plait. “MONTyyyyyyyyy!!”

 

“Oof!” Parnasse grunted, throwing his arms around Jehan and trying not to grin too hard. “Hi!”

 

Jehan pulled back to look at his face, grinning manically, and Courf wondered at Montparnasse’s impressive talent of staying friends with his exes. “How are you?”

 

“I’m good, I mean I’m fine, but how are you?”

 

“Great, I’m really good!” Jehan’s grin seemed superglued to his face, and he was slurring slightly. “It’s so great to see everybody again and all of your friends are really nice and it’s wonderful!”

 

Mont laughed. “Not really my friends- I’m just here for Ferre. And you, obviously. This isn’t really my kind of scene.”

 

“And yet you’ve managed to lure practically all of the people in this room into bed,” muttered Courf sarcastically, and somewhat hypocritically, starting to feel like a bit of a third wheel. He looked around for his drink, realised he was still holding it and downed it in one go.

 

“Aww, are you feeling left out?” Montparnasse smirked.

 

“Not so much, actually, _Monty_. I’ll let you two catch up.”

 

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something,” Jehan blurted, catching his sleeve before he could turn away and leave.

 

“Oh. Um, ok?” Courf blushed, looking at the long slim fingers wrapping round his wrist.

 

“Do you like dancing?” He paused. “I mean. Do you… Do you want to dance?”

 

“With you?”

 

“No, with me and the flying pigs,” Mont chimed in. “Of course he means with him, you dolt.”

 

Jehan nodded, a faint smile on his bitten lips, his fingers unconsciously clamping harder into the fabric of Courfeyrac’s sleeve. “You don’t mind, do you, Monty?”

 

“You kids go have fun now. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

 

“So basically free reign to do anything, regardless of legality and morality,” Jehan muttered. “Good to know!” He looked down at Courf. “Well?”

 

“Yeah. Yes. Yes I do, thank you.” He caught his hand and threaded their fingers together, letting Jehan guide them through the swarm of people and into the centre of the living room.

 

It was awkward, swaying gently to the music and in very close proximity to someone he’d just met. Courf couldn’t help noticing how nice he smelled. Like incense and sugar and fruity tea and probably quite a bit of alcohol- Courf had noticed him hanging out with Taire and Eponine earlier, and he was probably being quite a bit more tactile than he usually was. One hand was holding his loosely, and the other was placed on the small of his back, guiding him.

 

Jehan was shaking slightly, and it took him a moment to realise that he was laughing. “What?” He asked.

 

“Nothing, nothing. I’m just… Happy. I mean, it’s great to be back and to see everyone and they’ve all made such great lives for themselves here. You have such a wonderful group of friends! Enjolras has been trying to recruit me to those meetings of yours, you know?”

 

“Oh, you should come. I’d love to see some more of you.” He blushed, realising how innapropreiate that sounded. “I mean, sorry, I…”

 

“I know what you meant, I think. I’d love to see some more of you too,” Jehan said, and winked.

 

Courf took a deep breath and blinked at him. That should not have been as attractive as it was. But now his brain was melting and he couldn’t say anything except “I…”

 

Jehan’s face fell. “Damn. I knew I was no good at acting sexy. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it awkward or anything, I just-”

 

Courf leaned forward, about to say something but he couldn't find the words, and Jehan tailed off anxiously. His big dark eyes were staring down at him, warm and peaceful and like a deer in the headlights. He didn't think about it, squeezed his eyes so tight that it almost hurt, cupped his jawline with a nail-varnished finger and kissed him.

 

It wasn’t anything big, just a brush of lips that lingered a little too long, a tiny butterfly of pressure that was barely noticeable, and a sort of awkward hug, but it felt like fireworks in his brain. Maybe it’s the drink, he tried to tell himself, but his hands were shaking a little when he pulled away and his heart was screaming in his ears. He was sober suddenly, but not in the bad way. Like he'd put on a pair of glasses and bought the world into focus. Breathless and unable to stop smiling, he breathed out. “Do you, I don’t know. Do you want to go out some time?”

 

Jehan’s dark, freckled face split into a big grin. “Yes, please!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm on tumblr at loveprouvaire if you care to find me :)


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